True Tilda eBook

The roundabout had come to a standstill. Around
it, at a decent distance, stood a dark circle of folk.
But its lights still blazed, its mirrors still twinkled.
She could detect nothing amiss.

What had happened? Tilda had forgotten Miss
Sally, and was anxious now but for Arthur Miles.
A dozen fears suggested themselves. She ought
never to have left him. . . .

She dropped from the hedge into the field, and ran
downhill to the platform. It stood deserted,
the last few fairy-lamps dying down amid the palms
and greenery. In the darkness at its rear there
was no need of caution, and she plunged under the
vallance boldly.

“Arthur! Arthur Miles! Are you all
right? . . . Where are you?”

A thin squeal answered her, and she drew back, her
skin contracting in a shudder, even to the roots of
her hair. For, putting out her hand, she had
touched flesh—­naked, human flesh.

CHAPTER XV.

“There is a boy, somewhere at the back
of me,” the Fat Lady answered; “and a
dog too. You can talk to them across me; but
I couldn’t move, not if I was crushin’
them ever so.”

Tilda called softly to the prisoners, and to her relief
Arthur Miles answered out of the darkness, assuring
her, albeit in a muffled voice, that they were both
safe.

“But what’s the meanin’ of
it?” Tilda demanded again.

“The igsplosion’s the meanin’ of
it.”

“But there ain’t been no explosh’n.
And anyway,” said Tilda, “you ain’t
tellin’ me you been blown ’ere?”

“Igsplosion or no igsplosion,” replied
the Fat Lady incontestably, “’ere I h’am.”

“Sure yer can’t move?” Tilda
coaxed.

At this the Fat Lady showed some irritation.

“I ought to know what I’m capable of by
this time. . . . If you could run along and fetch
somebody with a tackle and pulley now—­”

“I got a friend comin’ presently.
’E’s quite a ’andy young feller,
an’ tender-’earted: ’e
won’t leave yer like this, no fear. . . .
But, o’ course, it’ll be a shock to ’im,
‘appenin’ in upon us an’ findin’—­
well, so much more’n ‘e expected.
I’m thinkin’ ’ow to break it to
’im gently, ’ere in the dark.”
Tilda considered for a while. “It might
’elp if I knew yer name. ‘Twouldn’
be fair—­would it?—­to start off
that we’d got a surprise for ‘im, an’
would ’e guess?”

“He’ll find out, fast enough, when he
strikes a light,” said the Fat Lady between
resigned despair and professional pride. “But
my name’s Mrs. Lobb, when you introjuice him.”